


Kick My Ass, Why Dontcha?

by pinegreenapples



Series: Modern AU [7]
Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Crowley just wanted a nice evening out, Drunk Halt is a force to be reckoned with, Gen, Minor Violence, early years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinegreenapples/pseuds/pinegreenapples
Summary: Perhaps the most frustrating part of all this, Halt thought as he sniffed the cup, was that the vodka was rather upsettingly flavored like watermelon while the gatorade was cherry lime and none of those fruits went well together, no matter how drunk you were.He swirled the liquid in his cup and glanced over at the makeshift dance floor. Crowley was there. He had taken two minutes to drag Halt over to the drink station, chug a shot and then left immediately to dance. He now had a loyal gaggle of coeds around him, drunkenly swaying to the beat. He caught Halt’s eye and did a vague Macarena motion.Halt ignored him and stared down at the toxic mixture in his hand instead. It slopped like cherry cough syrup against the side of the cup. Halt grimaced. Yeahhhh, nope.Halt got up and started walking towards the kitchen. He was gonna need something else if he was gonna get buzzed tonight.





	Kick My Ass, Why Dontcha?

Halt had run away from a lot of things when he left Hibernia for the backwoods podunk town of Redmont two years ago. His brother, social responsibility, parental pressure, and-perhaps the most daunting of his troubles-going to a four year college for a degree he didn’t want solely so he could inherit his father’s company.

Which was why meeting Crowley had been great. Crowley didn’t give a shit about college and had mostly just been hanging around Redmont while he waited for his calling to come and smack him over the head. And while Halt wasn’t exactly the calling he had been expecting _per se_ , he definitely was instrumental in launching Crowley into making some decisions.

He decided to enlist in the park ranger service alongside Halt and offered his spare bedroom to the newcomer by route of asking where he planned to store his ugly ass boots that night.

Of course, insulting someone’s choice of footwear wasn’t the most recommended way to gain a roommate but it somehow worked for them in between the barbs and the mock tussling.

And seeing as both boys had no interest whatsoever in entering the local college, Halt never expected to ever have to deal with anything even remotely involving college life.

Unfortunately, while Halt’s desire to avoid college was mostly social, Crowley’s aversion fell squarely on the academic side of things, leaving him open to any and all party invites. And that, Halt supposed, was the reason he was perched on an armrest in a frat basement, clutching a bright red concoction of gatorade and cheap vodka.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of all this, Halt thought as he sniffed the cup, was that the vodka was rather upsettingly flavored like watermelon while the gatorade was cherry lime and none of those fruits went well together, no matter how drunk you were.

He swirled the liquid in his cup and glanced over at the makeshift dance floor. Crowley was there. He had taken two minutes to drag Halt over to the drink station, chug a shot and then left immediately to dance. He now had a loyal gaggle of coeds around him, drunkenly swaying to the beat. He caught Halt’s eye and did a vague Macarena motion. 

Halt ignored him and stared down at the toxic mixture in his hand instead. It slopped like cherry cough syrup against the side of the cup. Halt grimaced. Yeahhhh, nope. 

Halt got up and started walking towards the kitchen. He was gonna need something else if he was gonna get buzzed tonight.

***

After a thorough inspection of the kitchen, Halt found a slightly less cheap bottle of whiskey that was wonderfully unopened. He poured himself a glass and threw it back.

Compared to the red sludge Halt had been handed at the start of the evening, the whiskey was nearly heavenly. Halt poured himself another glass. And another. And another. By the fifth glass, Halt was feeling _great_. 

So great, that he decided maybe mingling wouldn’t be so bad right then and got up to find Crowley. However, as with most drunk people, Halt got distracted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. My dad brought it back from Germany on his last trip.”

Halt peered at the watch the kid was showing off. A dim part of his brain muttered something about the kid sounding like a douchey fuck boy.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

The kid turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Now that Halt looked at him, in his khaki board shorts and untucked button up, he looked like even more of a fuck boy than he sounded.

“The metal is already starting to tarnish a little and Montblanc moved to finishing their watches with stainless steel because it will last longer and look nicer.” Halt took a swig from his glass and started to turn away, already bored.

“And just who the hell are you?” The fuck boy sneered down at Halt.

In many ways, Drunk Halt was very different from Sober Halt. He was more gregarious and flamboyant-anyone could see that from the way he let his hips sway as he walked and flirted with every third person he saw-but most of all, Drunk Halt was willing to acknowledge what sober Halt wouldn’t-his legacy and his fame.

Being the son of a highly successful businessman, Halt had been in several op-eds and even more newscasts than he could count. And while Sober Halt had hated being under such public scrutiny, Drunk Halt reveled in it. 

So with the elegance and flair of drunken socialite, Drunk Halt turned back to Fuck Boy and pointed to his face.

“Google it, bitch!”

Drunk Halt took a moment to bask in the stunned looks he received from Fuck Boy and Co. then flipped them the bird and walked off. Or at least he tried to.

Halt’s arm yanked back as Fuck Boy grabbed it and swung him around like a carousel horse to meet his fist.

***

Crowley had been having a good time at the party so far. He’d gotten pleasantly buzzed on watermelon vodka and had spent a great few hours dancing and flirting with a junior who was studying Biology but looked more interested in learning about _his_ biology tonight.

He was even contemplating asking if he could stay the night at her place when a ruckus started up behind him. Crowley glanced behind him to see people running. Several of them had phones out and were jockeying to see something further ahead.

“Hey!” Crowley flagged down one of the people running. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a fight!”

“A fight?” Crowley felt his stomach drop.

“Yeah! Two dudes are going at it in the living room!”

_Oh hell._

Crowley got up and started running towards the commotion. He pushed through the throng, craning to catch a glimpse of what was going on but to no avail. The crowd was too dense. He continued to shove his way through until he was near the front. Still he couldn’t see anything. Crowley gave one last push and burst through the circle of people to watch just as Halt ducked under the other guy’s fist and landed a hit to his solar plexus. The kid doubled over.

_Well that’s just swell. We’re never getting invited back here again._

Crowley tried to step forward but the crowd swelled around him. The kid straightened himself only to get knocked flat by a right hook. Crowley winced at the crack the kid’s nose made.

The crowd _oohed_ in delight. The kid’s friend rushed to help him up as Halt spat blood out. Crowley finally extricated himself from the last of the crowd and grabbed Halt’s upper arm.

“Hey bud, I think it’s time to go home now.”

Halt turned a disdainful eye to him. “I’m teaching an asshole a lesson.”

Crowley tugged him backwards. “I think he’s learned it.”

Halt scowled. He stood staring at Fuck Boy for a second before flipping him off. Crowley pulled harder and managed to squeeze the both of them through the throng of people and into the hall. They scampered out the door and ran two blocks before pausing to catch their breath.

Crowley turned to examine his friend, picking up his hands to check the knuckles for splits. Halt let him, keeping his hands limp as he stared at the sky. 

“I leave you alone for a few hours and you get drunk and start a fight!” Crowley scolded.

“He started it. Not my fault his dad is shitty and bought him a cheap airport watch.” Halt sniffed and snatched his hands away.

Crowley sighed. “I can’t believe you.”

Halt crossed his arms and looked away. Crowley sighed again.

“Look, let’s just go home okay? You’re going to have a nasty headache tomorrow and the sooner I can get ibuprofen into you, the less we have to suffer tomorrow. Sound good?”

Halt frowned at him. “But I’m the one with a headache.”

Crowley slid his arm around Halt’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Yes, but I have to live with you when you have a headache and that’s almost as bad.”

Halt made an offended noise. 

“Oh don’t even start. We both know you’re like a bear with a head cold when you’re not feeling well.”

Halt grunted, neither confirming nor denying. Crowley fought the urge to laugh. _Cagey as ever, aren’t you?_

“Right, let’s get going, shall we?” The two of them walked home, and if Halt leaned in a little more than normal into Crowley’s body heat, he chalked it up to the fact that Drunk Halt was much cuddlier than Sober Halt and tried to enjoy it while it lasted.


End file.
